


The Whispering Tree

by alikuu



Series: Ost-in-Edhil [4]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Annatar being creepy as usual, Irony, M/M, Off-screen mild horror and mild gore, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 21:20:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9845306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alikuu/pseuds/alikuu
Summary: Annatar's always there to help Tyelpe get rid of troublesome thoughts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: I borrowed very generously from a quest in The Witcher III, so if someone is playing that game, be warned that the "folk story" here spoils one of the choices in the game. Other than that, there is disturbing off-screen content here, but nothing too graphic.

Back in his chambers, Tyelpe barely reached his bed before he collapsed. His head throbbed after the mixture of chronic exhaustion and his current intoxication caused an unexpected collision between his brow and a doorframe on his way.

The master craftsman didn’t regret taking the chance to spend a night merrily with his colleagues, but he registered that he might have had a tad too much of the triple distilled eastern alcohol, which their newest member had brought along.

Lying down made the pain better and once again the elf could think. He rubbed his bleary eyes against the cotton of a pillowcase, trying in vain to wipe away the blur in his vision.

When the exercise did nothing but introduce bright sparks to his already muddled eyesight, he closed his lids and found the darkness behind them soothing.

Their latest project was proving very time-consuming, demanding, and way too important for Tyelpe to give anything but his all. It wasn’t often that the smiths of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain did something aside from work on the rings. Or rather, that Annatar and he worked on the rings while the rest of the Mirdain laboured on providing them with the conditions they needed, in order to forge the latest batch.

It was their biggest group project so far, one that took all of their guild’s resources. But he didn’t wish to pause - he found it difficult, even irritating, to turn his attention away even for rest. They had tapped into the depths of the unknown, and Celebrimbor felt like the first elf to awake by the Cuinivien, wide-eyed and full of wonder.

Carelessly he dragged his still booted legs onto the mattress and pulled downy covers over his lordly attire. He needed to sleep it off. However, even as the vertigo in his head subsided and he swallowed down the nausea at the back of his throat, Celebrimbor didn’t find rest.

Something was bothering him, and at first he wasn’t certain what it was, but it was gnawing at his mind insistently, like the bitter aftertaste of that exotic alcohol.

Celebrimbor thought back on the night, on the much needed respite from work, on the hearty company, on Annatar’s warm presence as always by his side, on the cheer of the pub, and the interesting guest from a distant land, who entertained them with colourful folk stories and funny anecdotes from his home.

But despite the alchemist’s talented tongue for spinning tales, some of those stories had brought on a shadow over the smith’s heart. One in particular, of a hunter and a whispering tree, with a spirit trapped in its rotten heart.

Annatar’s warm fingers brushed against his forehead, touch as hot as embers against the elf’s skin. Celebrimbor didn’t bother to open his eyes. Annatar in his chambers was as common as Annatar in the forge. These days Annatar followed him everywhere, or perhaps it was Celebrimbor doing the following... they had become so interwoven it was getting hard to tell.

Either way, Annatar could appear at any time, anywhere, letting himself through doors unlocked or otherwise without problem.

It didn’t bother Celebrimbor. On the contrary - Annatar was a constant in his life. It was as close to a soul bond that he could get with one whose soul could not be bonded.

“I am well.” He whispered, the sound muffled by his pillow.

“You’re sweating and your heart is racing.” Annatar observed. His weight dipped the bed behind the elf and Celebrimbor felt himself slipping closer until his back was touching Annatar’s hipbone.

“I‘m well.” Celebrimbor repeated and wasn’t surprised when the Maia saw it fit to slip into the bed behind him, fully clothed just as he was, and embrace him. Annatar exhaled into his hair, the hot air tickling Tyelpe’s neck. A shiver ran down the elf’s spine and some of the darkness receded to just over the edge of his bed. He let himself relax. In Annatar's arms he was safe.

Slowly, he turned to lie on his back, opening his eyes and staring at the ceiling above. Annatar cuddled to his side. He kept as close as he’d be if they were doing that on one of the narrow cots set up in the workshops, where sometimes Celebrimbor and the other masters napped. However, only Celebrimbor got the privilege to share the crammed space with a Maia and even in a large bed, such as the one in his bedchamber, he was unwilling to discourage the closeness.

The shadows of the organic woodworkings of the window frames made Celebrimbor think of branches, and once again the ghastly story of the evil in the tree crept back into his mind.

_‘I am bound here - in fetters of magic - I wonder endlessly - a labyrinth of leaves’ The spirit spoke. The hunter listened and hearkened to its suffering, and he asked ‘You claim you are imprisoned and kill to protect yourself from those who seek to hurt you. If I help you, would you leave this tree and lift the curse of this place?’_

Annatar slid one arm over Tyelperinquar’s chest and hooked a leg over the elf’s hips. He tugged him closer and the smith welcomed the heat, which fought with the clammy dread that crept into his heart.

“The alchemist's tales are still bothering you.” The Maia prompted.

From this close, it wasn’t hard to hear each other’s thoughts and Celebrimbor wasn’t trying to shield his mind anyway.

“Yeah, who would think - a grown elf and a survivor of the first age - so disturbed by children’s tales.” Celebrimbor tried for a self-deprecating laugh. He closed his eyes to avoid looking at the tree-like shadows that seemed to be reaching across the room. “Do you think Sadalmelik would laugh if he knew how he got me?”

“I’m sure he’d count it as a great success of his storytelling abilities, Tyelperinquar.” Annatar hummed close to his ear. “He shall go back to his home in years time and say ‘And the great elven lords shivered when they heard the story of the hunter and the tree.’”

Celebrimbor’s subsequent laugh was a genuine one.

“How did you know it was that one in particular?” He asked.

“I know you.” Annatar said simply.

“You liked him, didn’t you.” Celebrimbor tried to change the topic, wishing for anything but a reminder of the story.

“I haven’t formed an opinion of him yet.” The Maia responded softly. “If his art is as intricate as his storytelling, then I believe that yes, I will like him very much.”

Celebrimbor nodded, but his thoughts were already on the nightmarish folk tale once more.

Annatar kissed his neck. Tyelpe’s heart lept and his breath caught. It felt right, but...

_A monstrous lump of rotting, throbbing flesh, tangled between the roots of the ancient oak. The heart of the tree was sick and horns grew around it. The hunter stepped closer and the voice spoke once more ‘Free me, please...’_

The Maia pulled him closer, and the craftsman turned his face into his hand. Annatar leaned in until their foreheads touched. Celebrimbor tried to let the soothing sensations ease his mind, but the more the Maia’s warmth wrapped around him, the hotter and more restricted he felt.

“What bothers me is that the hunter had every opportunity to see the spirit for what it was.” Celebrimbor spoke, hoping that voicing his dismay would help him get it out of his system. “The dead villagers on the way, the request to sacrifice the life of his faithful mare - I mean, what kind of a spirit would sow death and ask to possess a horse to gain freedom from a curse?”

Annatar didn’t answer and the elf kept talking.

“Or the being’s bones, which were not quite human - the hunter should have known. There was every sign that something was wrong. The hunter ended up unleashing a much greater evil than the one he hoped to prevent.”

“Talking trees can be tricky things.” The Maia answered calmly. “This tale most likely originated from a tribesman’s unfortunate encounter with one of Yavanna’s creatures. Their hearts can grow rotten indeed, and their interests lie only in the preservation of their forests.”

“Regardless of the origin, it’s a foul tale.” Celebrimbor said, opening his eyes to meet the glowing yellow ones of the Maya. “The injustice upsets me.”  
  
_‘Where is everybody?’ The hunter asked, for amongst the burnt houses and the butchered villagers, there was one still alive although his wounds were great. ‘There eint’ no everybody. Brother lunged at brother. Son at father, Mothers carrying their babes turned and hit them against the nearest stump…’ The villager said. ‘A black mare came, reared up and then the madness started. My tongue don’t want to say what my eyes have seen, and my mind wishes to forget it.’_

“What a horrible story this man told!” Celebrimbor exclaimed after another thoughtful silence.

“As tasteless as that liquor he poured.” Annatar agreed and Celebrimbor chuckled, nuzzling a little closer to his friend. He was comfortable, although Annatar held him a little too tight in an embrace that was a little too hot.

“Do you think we can do something to vanquish that bitter aftertaste?” He asked and Annatar didn’t hesitate.

Celebrimbor slept calmly after.


End file.
